


Chain

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Unrequited, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Glorfindel picks Erestor up for the party.





	Chain

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He stops by Erestor’s quarters on the way to the banquet, though he’s surprised when the door actually opens—Erestor is almost _always_ early to events, usually playing the role of staff more than guest. Tonight, all the preparations have already been made, but Glorfindel knows how meticulous Erestor is and how much extra effort he exhausts on the smooth running of Imladris. Yet Erestor answers the door only in a thin dressing gown, his hair untouched and spilling loosely down his shoulders. He welcomes Glorfindel inside with a fleeting smile. 

As soon as Glorfindel has been ushered in and the door’s been shut behind him, Erestor flitters back to the dressing table. His hair is already flawless, silken and shimmering like it always does, but he runs his brush back through it anyway. Glorfindel resists the urge to offer his assistance. Instead, he takes his seat on the large bed and watches Erestor’s reflection in the mirror. 

“I will only be a moment,” Erestor notes, gaze on his own work. When he finishes with the brush, he runs his fingers through the ends, parting them thoughtfully, as though deciding where to braid. “But it would be quicker for you if you were to attend alone.”

“I will wait,” Glorfindel decides. It isn’t as though Erestor hasn’t waited for him a thousand times. And the view is pleasant enough in the meantime. He always enjoys watching Erestor fuss, especially over little points in his appearance—he used to pay so little heed to that. It doesn’t matter what he does: he’s always a vision. But he prods and preens anyway. Even knowing none of that attention is for Glorfindel’s benefit, he enjoys the scene. 

Erestor ultimately drops his hands, forgoing braids all together. His hair is lovely when it’s styled, but seeing it fully free is a rare occurrence, and that makes it more tantalizing. Glorfindel privately approves of the decision. Erestor rises from his table and strolls across the room, his slender frame disappearing behind the changing screen. A sleek set of deep blue robes is draped over the top. They slip away—Glorfindel averts his eyes while Erestor changes. He doesn’t want to, but he remains respectful.

Mainly to drown out the quiet rustling of delicate clothing sliding across Erestor’s pale skin, Glorfindel notes, “You are putting quite a bit of effort into your appearance tonight, my friend.”

“We have guests,” Erestor answers easily. “Why should I not?”

Glorfindel can’t help a laugh. As they’re alone, he risks asking, “Since when do you care for King Thranduil’s presence?”

Erestor doesn’t answer. He emerges from the screen, immaculately dressed in tight-fitted robes that hug his trim waist and fall from his shoulders like rushing water. He returns to the mirror over his table and frowns at his reflection.

Glorfindel dares to venture, “I had thought it was Lord Elrond you had your eyes on.”

Erestor carefully adjusts his collar. “Perhaps if King Thranduil recognizes what is on offer, it will prompt Lord Elrond to see what lies before him.”

Perhaps. But there will be hundreds of elves throwing themselves all over the Woodland king—there always is. Glorfindel thinks Erestor is by far the most appealing of them, but he also knows that Thranduil has curious tastes. He feels selfish saying, “There are rumours, I am sorry to tell you, that Lord Elrond has developed a certain... fondness... for Lindir.”

“So I have heard,” Erestor murmurs. Gaze still on himself rather than his guest, he sighs. “A younger, prettier version...”

Glorfindel quietly counters, “Not prettier.” Erestor doesn’t seem to hear him.

Erestor finally turns towards him, sucks in a breath, and asks, “What do you think?”

Given the invitation, Glorfindel allows his gaze to sweep down Erestor’s long body. He notes every sleek curve, every soft angle, every little detail, right up to the sternness of Erestor’s handsome face and the uncharacteristic trepidation in his dazzling eyes. Glorfindel answers truthfully, “You are the most beautiful creature in all the world.”

A grin twitches across Erestor’s lips. He says, “You a liar, my friend. But the sentiment is appreciated.”

He leaves for the door, and Glorfindel follows, grateful for what closeness he has.


End file.
